My friend, Denise, grew up in the desert of Arizona. The red cliffs, sandy hills, and sparseness sing to her soul. She posts pictures of her home and expounds on the beauty of the area. I see sand and dirt. Sometimes I see a spark of something, but mostly it looks awful to me. I did not grow up in the desert.
I left Eastern Carolina yesterday morning. It was pouring rain, and great puddles were amassing in the flat streets. I like where we live. I do see beauty in the spring azaleas and daffodils. I think our piece of property is calming and satisfying.
But as I drove north through North Carolina and then into Virginia, calm satisfaction was not what I longed for. I wanted greatness, lushness, and largeness. Passing over the James River the terrain began to change. Once I turned onto Route 17 heading west toward the hills, my riding companion perked up. "We're getting closer to WV," he said. Yes, I thought, my heart beginning to water like a mouthful of warm, homemade bread.
Houses hanging on hillsides, rhododendrons with large pink blooms, mists rising from hidden valleys as if dwarves were blowing rings of smoke from under the mountains. My friend probably looks at these things as pretty, but she wouldn't want to live here. I, on the other hand, took a walk as soon as I arrived. I had to assure myself that all was still well at home.
The sun was sinking on one side of the hill, and the full moon shone brightly on the other side. It was as if the world was telling me that light would fill me no matter what. I look forward to this week of refreshment, of light, of calm beauty and peace. My heart has come back home, and my soul has begun to sing.
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